The Quest. Lyn Stone

moment more, madam,” Henri rasped. “I would know your name.”

      She looked over her shoulder and, after a brief hesitation, told him. “Iana…of Ayr.”

      “A free woman?” he demanded gruffly, though he would not retract the offer even if she were not. He only needed to know whether they would be followed by some irate laird intent on recapturing his comely healer.

      “Free?” she asked, puzzled, as if the word were foreign to her. A light dawned in her eyes, even as he watched. “Aye, I am that,” she said then, “free as a lark. And I fully intend to stay so for as long as I live. I shall see you to this place called Baincroft, and your family will reward me by giving me work to do.”

      Trusting that Everand would be in capable hands, Henri surrendered to his fevered dreams.

      Chapter Two

      Iana instructed the boy to mind Tam for her, and hurried away into the night. She had warned him that his master’s fate rested upon how well he minded the child. His lack of reluctance for the task surprised her and made her feel guilty for the untruth. She hated lying.

      It was no lie she had told the knight, however, saying that she was free. This heaven-sent bargain of his had granted her that freedom. He did not need to know how long she had considered herself unfettered, now did he?

      Iana felt fairly certain she could keep him alive, and devoutly hoped she would succeed in doing so. The wound was not deep, nor had it festered. However, the loss of blood or fever might well take him yet, unless she dosed him heavily with herbs and kept him warm and dry for several days before attempting to travel.

      It certainly would be more advantageous for her if she did not arrive at his brother’s home with a dead body. Besides that, she rather liked the lad, Everand, who doted on his master and was kind to Tam. Iana did not want to see him grieve.

      Taking the man to her cottage at the edge of the village was not possible. He might be discovered there. If it became known that she entertained a man within her temporary home, her brother would likely do more than beat her when he found out. And if they remained there until the knight was fit to travel, it would be time for Newell to come for her answer. They had but three days to get well away.

      ’Twould be best if they repaired to a nearby cave. She knew of one that would suffice. It was where she had planned to go with Tam and hide from her brother until he gave up searching. Getting the knight there would be the problem. He could not walk and she had no beast for him to ride. Her only recourse was to obtain one somehow.

      Or why not three? She’d pay no more dearly for them than for a single animal if she were caught. Hanged was hanged. Besides, she did not fancy trudging the breadth of Scotland with Tam on her back, dragging the knight on a litter with only the help of a lad.

      The nearest village to Whitethistle stood at least two leagues distant. She knew it well, for it rested upon the estate of her dead husband, the demented old lout who had never given her anything before he died other than two years of abject misery.

      His family had taken all of her jewelry from her and kept her dowry as well, so surely his cursed sons by his first wife owed Iana something for enduring their father without complaint. There should be at least three mounts enclosed in a stable somewhere thereabout.

      Iana lifted her skirts and quickened her pace. If she was to become a reiver tonight, then she had best be about the business of it before good sense took hold.

      Henri opened his eyes to total darkness. There were no stars above him. No moon. Nothing. For a moment, he believed death had claimed all but his awareness and the ever-present pain. He sensed he was enclosed somehow, not out in the open. Then he heard Everand’s almost inaudible snoring nearby, interspersed with the distant, soft whuffle of a horse. Was this a stable?

      “Ev?” he whispered.

      A cool hand brushed his brow. The woman. He drew in her scent, that of sweet grasses and the underlying essence that marked her gender. “Where are we?” he asked.

      “In a cave,” she answered, her voice dulcet and comforting. She placed something to his lips. “Chew upon this. It will aid your rest and cool your fever.”

      He accepted it and tasted green bark. Foul stuff, but given that she had sewn him up and rescued him from the elements, he granted her that modicum of trust. Henri chewed for a few moments, then removed the bitter residue from his mouth.

      “We leave here come morning,” he told her.

      “So eager,” she commented with a soft laugh. “I fear it will be at least another day before you are well enough to ride, good sir.”

      “I have sailed the entire length of England in worse condition. I daresay a few days on horseback will not prove any more life-threatening.”

      “As you will, then,” she replied softly. “But now you must sleep, sir.”

      “Henri,” he whispered, groping about for her hand until he found it and threaded his fingers through hers. It helped to feel grounded here in this dark place, so he would not go flying off into the beyond. The feeling of hanging suspended in purgatory when he’d awakened must have affected him more than he realized. “My name is Henri.”

      He realized he must be more fevered than he thought, to invite this informality with a woman. Even his mistresses did not address him so, and he had never before encouraged such a thing. However, she thought him but a simple knight, apparently. That made sense, for when they had set out upon their voyage, he had instructed Everand not to call him “lord.” Most of the time Henri preferred the simplicity of being a knight among other knights, instead of the heir to the Trouville dynasty. It afforded him more friendship and camaraderie. He definitely wished a friendship with this woman, he thought with an inner smile.

      “I am Iana,” she said.

      “I remember. Iana,” he added, for no reason but to say it, tasting her name on his tongue. Like honey, it sweetened the bitter taste of the bark. “Your father is called Ian, I would wager.”

      “My grandfather,” she replied. He could hear the smile in her voice.

      “I know an Ian,” he told her idly, his words slurring as his mind grew heavy with fatigue. “A rogue, he is.”

      Again, she laughed, a mere flutter of sound that soothed him immeasurably. “Rest now…Henri,” she advised softly.

      The sharpness of his aches had subsided. The coolness of her palm seemed to draw the heat from him. “Magic,” he commented, smiling into the dark.

      He listened, imagining he could hear her heart beating a steady rhythm, or mayhaps it was his own. A horse whuffled again and Ev made a sleepy sound of protest, likely in response to a dream. For the first time in weeks, Henri felt safe enough and well enough that he could willingly embrace sleep without thinking of death.

      “These are your horses, lady?” Everand demanded. He stroked the neck of the smallest mount, a mare who tended to nip.

      She shrugged. “They are now.”

      He grinned impishly, showing fine white teeth and dimples. “You stole them, did you not? I knew it last night when you returned after so many hours. Did you kill someone for them?”

      “Of course,” she said, then wrinkled her nose at him in jest. Iana held tightly to the rope attached to the large cob, allowing only enough slack for the horse to bend its neck and drink from the stream. “In truth, I left a link of the silver for payment.”

      With her free hand, she patted the knight’s chain, coiled within the sack attached to her belt, and took pleasure in the clinking. “When the moment arrived to take the beasts, I found I could not become a thief.”

      “Aha,” he acknowledged with a sage expression. “An honorable soul. I do admire that in a woman.”

      The lad’s sudden transformations